Born On Baker Street
by L Jerome
Summary: Nine months after 'committing suicide' Sherlock has to deal with the results of a sick experiment of Moriarty's. Set after Reichenbach Fall. T for Mpreg delivery scene. Slight fluff and angst. Possible OOC Summary stinks but go with it.


Darn Moriarty for getting him in this mess.

Darn the sick science experiment that he couldn't stop Moriarty from performing on him.

_'And darn him for making me pregnant with his child.'_ he thought to himself as the latest contraction ended.

The memories of that night were non-existent for Sherlock Holmes; lord knows what Moriarty had drugged him with... But it wasn't until after the fall that he had discovered the truth. Sherlock had been plenty peeved when he found out about what had happened. But then again, he couldn't blame himself; there had been no way of stopping it. And even though it was Moriarty's child, it was his too and the thought of ending his own child's life was out of the question. So there he was, separated from his best friend, in hiding at his brother's and pregnant with a dead man's son.

Yes, he had managed to figure out the sex of the child without an ultrasound. Although John was convinced that it was a girl.

_Ah yes. Telling John..._

John had certainly been a little less than pleased when he had shown back up at 221B Baker Street. It was bad enough that he had been away for the past 5 months, letting John think he was dead, not to mention coming back pregnant with the child of the man who had forced Sherlock into suicide in the first place. But after a long evening of talking, tears, and explaining, John was eventually on board with keeping the child that was growing inside of his best friend.

The next three months, Sherlock had stayed basically confined to his flat under John's orders. Also every nicotine patch, every shot gun, basically anything of interest had being taken out of the flat as well. Doctor's orders... Although John did try his best to keep Sherlock put, basically by playing several rounds of Cluedo (and letting Sherlock win.) Not the most exciting life, but there really wasn't much choice. After word got around that he was still alive, the news media had gone crazy waiting at their door for that first big interview. In fact as he currently looked out the window of their flat, he scowled at the small crowd of reporters still waiting late into the evening. And if they found out this extra tidbit of information... No, he wouldn't give them the pleasure.

Of course that was going to make tonight much more difficult, considering he had gone into labor several hours ago. John and Mrs Hudson had gone to bed earlier, neither knowing that he was in labor and far be it from Sherlock to tell them. No... He had gotten into this one on his own and he was going to finish it on his own.

With one hand resting on his stomach and the other supporting his back, he managed to make it to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water and gulping it down in three large gulps. Restless, he paced the width of the flat, doing the best he could to stay on his feet as long as possible. He had just reached his chair when he could feel the next contraction starting. Leaning forward, one hand clenched the back of the chair while the other rubbed his rather impressive bump, his breathing deepening as the contraction reached its peak. After what seemed be forever, the iron grip that had wrapped around him started to loosen and as he straightened back up he could sense that the baby had dropped down lower, drawing ever closer to being born. He looked at his watch; it had only been three minutes since the last one. Getting back to pacing, his hand moved in circles over his stomach as he walked.

"It won't be long now." he said to himself, savoring the break as long as he could.

* * *

Two hours later, he was kneeling on the floor, his head resting on his one arm while the other dug its fingers into the chair's cushion as he struggled to breathe through the pain. The contractions were now a minute apart and lasting about 30 seconds, giving him basically no time to rest before being hit with another one. He had no idea how close he was to the end, but he could sense the amount of pressure building as the head pressed down and the increasing urge to push. Surely it was close. Grabbing onto the cushion, he shifted his legs a little farther apart, trying his best to find some comfortable position to deliver in. As the next contraction started, he leaned forward, groaning as it shifted further down inside him. The urge to push was unbearable now and at that moment, he knew it was time. Taking a deep breath, he dropped his chin to his chest and pushed, letting out a long moan as he felt it moving down and opening him up. Didn't feel like much, but it was enough to keep him going and taking another breath he pushed again with what was left of the contraction. As it started fading away, he took some deep breaths, realizing that this was going to be more than what he realized.

Nearly an hour later, Sherlock let out the breath he'd holding, resting as much as he could before the next contraction started. Progress had felt like it had been going slowly and he was starting to tire out. Something was going to need to happen soon or he'd have to try something else. All at once, another contraction started, this one stronger than the rest so far. By now his reaction was automatic and he pushed harder, determined that he'd finish this. As he pushed again, he let out a gasp as he felt something pop inside of him. Looking down, he could see the start of a puddle developing beneath him and cursed under his breath as he concluded that his water had broken. He hardly had a chance to contemplate this as the next contraction started and now without that cushion, the pain was nearly unbearable. Unable to fight it, he pushed down hard, a mild scream escaping his parched lips. It had moved down so much more with that last push, and as the contraction ended he was fairly certain that something was about to happen. Reaching down, he could feel the solid form of his son's head extending only a few centimeters outside of him, his fingers brushing the hair already growing on its head. Now that it was coming, it was coming quickly and at that point he was starting to panic, not wanting to do this alone. In fact, there was only one person he wanted there with him. As the contraction faded away, he reached for his cell phone and entered in a simple text message to John.

**'IF YOU WANT TO SEE YOUR GODSON COME INTO THE WORLD, YOU BETTER GET DOWN HERE. - SH'**

Pressing SEND, he managed to shift himself to a sitting position, leaning back against the chair as he waited for the next surge. His hand rested on his stomach.  
"Don't worry." he whispered, more to himself than anything. "John will be here soon..."  
The words were hardly out of his mouth as the next wave of pain started and despite trying to wait, the urge to push was too strong and he gave in, teeth grit as he felt the baby forcing itself from his body. In the background he could here the sound of John's feet hurrying down the stairs and stopping in shock as he entered the room. Seeing Sherlock on the floor in that kind of pain was a lot to take in. He could only stand frozen to the spot as Sherlock turned to him; a look of pain and agony on his face. It hurt to see his best friend in so much pain, so broken and so unsure as to how to help.

"I...I'll get Mrs. Hudson..." he stammered as he started to move towards the door.  
"No!" he cried, stopping John in his tracks. "Stay with me... I need your help."  
He paled when he realized what he was suggesting. "But Sherlock, I can't deliver a baby."  
He shot him a look. "You're a doctor; of course you can deliver a baby..."  
"An army doctor." he corrected. "In Afghanistan. You don't deliver many babies during a war Sherlock!"

Sherlock tried to come back with a response, but as the next contraction hit full force he couldn't help but push; his body trembling with the effort as he struggled to bring this life into the world. Tears started to come through eyes tightly shut, embarrassed of what John must possibly think of seeing him like this. Catching a breath, he looked up at him, tears streaming down his cheeks.  
"John, please..." the only words he could get out before giving in to another push.

That did it. True, John wasn't exactly sure of himself in this situation, but he could see at that moment in Sherlock's blue-green eyes how terrified he actually was. He needed him now more than ever. In an instant, he was at Sherlock's side, helping to lean him forward as he pushed through the rest of the contraction.  
"Well done Sherlock." he encouraged, ignoring the fact that he was squeezing the life out of his hand. "Keep pushing. You're almost there."

Sherlock's face remained scrunched with the effort a bit longer before leaning back to rest his head on John's arm as he took a few deep breaths. Taking advantage of the break between contractions, John left his side for a minute to grab a few towels and things from the bathroom for the delivery. Hurrying back into the living area, he set the stack on the floor while spreading one out under Sherlock's feet. Then grabbing a cold cloth from the kitchen, he gently dabbed it on his face, already hot from the exertion.

Sherlock managed a weak smile at the cool sensation on his face and welcomed it gratefully. "Thank you..." he breathed.  
John smiled back. "Don't mention it."  
His eyes opened wide as Sherlock suddenly let out a groan.  
"Another one?"  
He nodded quickly as he grabbed hold of his knees. "He's coming..."  
John barely had time to get into position before Sherlock took in another breath and pushed hard, letting out a gasp as he felt like his body had lit on fire.

"Something's burning!" he nearly screamed.  
"Take it easy Sherlock. The head's coming out. Don't push."  
'Don't push?' he screamed mentally. Every bone in his body was screaming to end it and here John was telling him not to? Never before had he wanted to rip John to shreds and judging from the smirk on John's face he could sense that too.  
"But John..." he started.  
"I said, don't push." John repeated firmly as his hand put pressure on the baby's head. "I've got to ease it out so you don't tear. Blow."  
Struggling to pant, he could sense his breathing quickening as with each breath, the head seemed to inch out more and more on its own until it finally forced its way free to a loud shout, leaving Sherlock panting stridently.

"Oh god that was terrible..." he moaned, thankful for sudden slight relief as the contraction ebbed away.  
"I know." John replied, his hand resting on Sherlock's knee. "But you're nearly done. He's got a lot of dark hair Sherlock." He grinned, trying to contain the excitement in his voice.  
He slightly smiled at the sound of John's enthusiasm. "So I was right?" Sherlock asked softly.  
"Right about what?" he asked back, not knowing what he meant.  
"The baby. You said 'he'. Was I right that it was a boy?"  
"Sherlock, it's only a head right now. I can't tell yet." he smiled. He really could be so dense sometimes...  
"It feels...really weird."  
"I'll bet it does." he said, moving to brush the damp curls off Sherlock's forehead. "Just a bit more for the shoulders and then you'll have your son."  
"Really?"  
John nodded, getting another towel ready to catch the newborn as he could see Sherlock tense up; curling in on himself as he pushed once more. A loud hiss escaped his lips as he could feel it turning inside him to make room for the shoulders.  
"Come on Sherlock. Need another one for the shoulders." He could hear John saying, the baby's head resting in his hands. "Give me another hard push."  
Nodding, he took another breath and pushed again as hard as he could manage, feeling it move ever so slightly.  
"Get it out!" he growled at him as he gave another hard shove, desperate for it to be over.  
"It's coming Sherlock, but you've got to push." John instructed. "Now deep breath, hold and push down." he said as Sherlock did so, letting out a scream as with a final push, the shoulders shifted free and the rest of the baby's body quickly slid out into John's hands.

For a few long moments,the room was completely silent except for Sherlock; his head resting back against the sofa seat as he tried to catch his breath. And then all of a sudden, the newborn let out a loud cry of protest; upset to be so forcibly removed from its first home. He chuckled in relief at the sound of that cry; at least it meant the baby was alive.  
"Is he alright?" Sherlock asked breathlessly. But John gave no response, still utterly in shock over what had just happened and what he was looking at.  
"My son," Sherlock repeated, terrified that something was wrong. "Is he alright?"  
All at once John found the words. "I don't know about your son, but your daughter seems to be perfectly healthy."

That caught his attention. Lifting his head up, he looked down in amazement to see the tiny screaming girl in John's hands, flailing her arms about as if she had no control over them. Before he had realized it, John had wrapped her in a towel and placed her on his chest for him to hold while he started to clean her up.  
"She...she's beautiful John..." he said quietly, as if he were trying not to disturb her. And indeed she was beautiful. He could see that she was pale just like him, she had both his and Jim's dark hair, but he could already tell that she had inherited his unruly curls verses Jim's straight hair. And as she looked up at him, beneath long eyelashes were eyes that matched his unusual blue-green.  
"She really is Sherlock." John smiled. "You did great."  
He smiled back. "So did you."  
Looking back down at the baby girl who cries were now calming, he ran his hand across her head, smoothing her dark hair.  
"Hi sweetheart... I'm your dad. So you're the one who's been kicking me these past few months." he smiled as he held her closer to him, taking the opportunity to count fingers and toes and his grin growing wider as her tiny hand grabbed hold of his finger.  
"My girl...I love you..." he breathed, knowing that he was already wrapped around her finger and that even though her other father wouldn't be around, he'd take care of this treasure with every fiber of his being.

"She'll needs something to keep her warm." he heard John say, realizing that the towel probably wasn't enough.  
"You're right." he nodded. Looking around the room, he saw it. "My coat. John, hand me my coat."  
"Sherlock, are you sure?"  
"Yes I'm sure. Now cover her up in it."  
Grabbing the coat from the chair, he gently draped it over the two of them, making sure that they would be plenty warm enough.  
"This will be quite the tale to tell her when she gets older." Sherlock smirked. "That her godfather delivered her here in the flat."  
"Godfather?" John looked at him in surprise. "You mean you were serious about that?"  
"Of course I was." he replied. "Who better to trust my only child with than my best friend?"  
John grinned. "Well..I...I don't... I'd be honored Sherlock."

"Sherlock? John? I heard something going on up here." Mrs Hudson's voice interrupted as it came from the stairwell. "What on earth are you two..." Her sentence was cut off as she saw the two of them sitting on the living room floor, Sherlock wrapped in his coat and the tiny babe lying on his chest; her head the only thing visible under the coat collar.

"Oh my heavens..." Mrs. Hudson breathed, her voice soft as she came in the room for a closer look. "The little dear... Sherlock, why didn't you..." she started. "Of all the things..." she fumed, then let out a sigh. "I'll call for an ambulance." she said quickly as she hurried downstairs.  
"Call Lestrade too." John called from behind her. "See if he can get rid of some of those reporters so we can get them out of here and to a hospital."  
"And call Mycroft." Sherlock added.  
"Your brother?" John asked, confused. "Why do you want her to call Mycroft?"  
"To tell him he's just become an uncle. I love to think of what he'd say."  
The two exchanged a glance before dissolving in a fit of laughter.  
"Well, so much for the name..." Sherlock chuckled.  
"I didn't even know you had decided on one."  
"I didn't. She did."  
"SHE picked it?" John asked, confused. "How?"  
"One of the nights that we couldn't sleep, I went through a book of names, said out loud every name that caught my interest and whichever one got the most kicks would be the name."  
"I see." John replied, shaking his head at Sherlock's reasoning and matter-of-fact explanation. "And which one was the winner?  
"Daniel." he replied. "Daniel Holmes. But I guess we won't be using that one now.  
"Oh I don't know." John smiled. "What about Danielle? That's close."  
"Danielle..." he said to himself, rolling the name around in his head a few times before finally smiling. "It's perfect."  
For a moment, the room was silent; the two of them looking down with pride at the tiny miracle in Sherlock's arms and both smiling at the sound of Danielle making noises in her sleep.  
"So how did you know?" Sherlock asked after a few moments.  
"Know what?"  
"That it was a girl. Nobody knew and you seemed so sure; how did you figure it out?"  
John grinned sheepishly. "In all honesty, I just guessed."

_-THE END-_


End file.
